


and love will not break your heart

by xinteng



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Found Family, Graphic Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, MAMA!AU, Minor Character Death, Mistaken Identity, Obsession!AU, Parallel Universes, but i'm just covering all my bases, chën is evil, exo-m fest, exo-m fest r2, it sounds worse than it is, rated for language and the violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:14:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23508211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xinteng/pseuds/xinteng
Summary: Mistaken for someone else, Jongdae stares down the barrel of a gun as a handsome stranger calls him a traitor.
Relationships: Kim Jongdae | Chen/Zhang Yi Xing | Lay
Comments: 14
Kudos: 85
Collections: EXO-M Fic Fest R2





	and love will not break your heart

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for the exo-m fest! thank you so much to the mods for organizing it, it was so lovely to be a part of.

The man in front of him would be Jongdae’s type, if he didn’t have a gun—probably loaded—aimed straight for his head.

In any other situation, Jongdae might have flirted with him a bit before asking for his name, let his glances sweep teasingly along the man’s sharp cheekbones, the full lips, the dark, tousled hair. He would’ve asked about the tattoo he can see peeking up above the collar of the man’s shirt, a dark swirl against otherwise pale skin.

The click of the safety coming off startles him from his thoughts.

“Look, I don’t know who you think I am,” he pleads, and if his hands weren’t tied so tightly to the chair behind him, he would put them out in supplication, “but you’ve got the wrong person, I swear.”

“You’re not fooling anyone,” the man bites out, cold and unfaltering, and Jongdae _really_ should not be thinking about this when he could be dying in the next few seconds, but _god,_ that voice. He watches the barrel of the gun as it trembles slightly, the hand holding it seemingly quivering involuntarily. The man regains his control quickly though, the gun aimed right for his head steadied once more. “You’re a traitor,” he hisses out. The man looks down then, as if gathering his thoughts before fixing him with another glare. “Don’t pretend that you don’t know.”

“I promise, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t promise anything,” the man seems angrier now, taking a large step forwards, enough so that the muzzle rests against his forehead and Jongdae can feel the cool metal touch his skin. “You’re not allowed to promise anything anymore.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Jongdae pleads, and he knows it’s useless for him to keep repeating the same words, but he doesn’t know what else to say. “I don’t even know your name, I don’t know why I’m here, I don’t know what you want from me.”

The words seem to set off the man. “You don’t know what you did? You don’t know how you shot Lu Han in the back? You don’t know how you told them Yifan and Tao’s locations and sold them out? You don’t know how Minseok doesn’t sleep at night anymore because of what you did?” There’s something wild in his expression, tight and furious and _hurt_ , and Jongdae bites his lip hard enough to draw blood.

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae says, though he has no idea who these people are and what, exactly, he’s apologizing for. Whoever this man thinks he is, however, he’s clearly hurt him a lot. “I’m sorry for whatever you think I did.” For a long moment, Jongdae thinks he’s going to pull the trigger, and he squeezes his eyes shut, internally apologizing to his parents and trying to remember the last time they spoke.

Then there’s a puff of air on his face as the man sighs and steps back, clicking the safety back on and tucking it away, before folding his arms across his chest. “No,” he says coolly. “I won’t kill you. That’s too easy for someone like you.”

He spits the name like a curse.

“Chen.”

A swift movement from the man, then, darkness.

❈

The next time Jongdae wakes, he’s in what looks to be a spacious loft, warm afternoon light slanting across his body from the high windows above. He’s still bound, of course, but he can feel his fingers and toes now, and he appreciates that. His head throbs dully, and his throat is dry—he coughs, trying to clear it.

The sound draws the man’s attention. He walks over lithely, looking as though he has an endless supply of time, raising an eyebrow at Jongdae’s figure. “What happened,” Jongdae croaks out, wincing at how wrecked his voice sounds, “where am I?”

The man drags a chair over to face him and settles in it, leaning forwards so his elbows are resting against his thighs, hands clasped together. “My place,” he answers easily. “I knocked you out and brought you here.”

The way he says it, so nonchalantly, makes Jongdae angry. He had been kidnapped with absolutely no regard for his life, no consideration for Jongdae himself, his friends—he pauses, swallowing heavily, _god,_ Baekhyun and Chanyeol must be worried out of their minds—his family.

Anger makes Jongdae speak once more—he has never been one to be reserved with his thoughts. “What are you going to do with me?”

The man doesn’t reply.

“I’m not whoever you think I am—I’m not Chen, or whatever his name was. My name’s Jongdae, I have an older brother, I’ve never gotten into trouble with the law. Hell, I’ve never even gotten a driving ticket.”

When it becomes clear that no matter what Jongdae says, the man won’t be answering, he stops, bitter. There are a few minutes of silence before he speaks again. “You clearly seem to think that you know who I am. I think it’s only fair that I know who you are as well.”  
Something in the man’s face shutters at that, a strange kind of devastation before anger takes over once more. He stands up, suddenly, and Jongdae can only watch helplessly as he leaves the room.

He’s left staring at the empty chair still facing him and wishing that he had never opened his mouth at all.

❈

It’s hours later before the man comes back. He drops a tray of food onto a table nearby and drags his chair closer to Jongdae, settling at the edge of it before spooning up a mouthful of what looks like rice and some sort of meat.

When Jongdae realizes what he’s trying to do, he rolls his eyes. “So what? I’m not even allowed the dignity of feeding myself now?”

The man sighs, face drawn. “I can’t untie your hands.” When he holds the spoon out in front of Jongdae’s mouth, he keeps his lips tightly shut. Like _hell_ he’s going to allow this bastard to feed him. For all he knows, the food’s poisoned.

As if he can read his mind, the man brings the food to his own mouth and eats it, chewing and swallowing before leaning back into the chair, still holding Jongdae’s glare as if trying to say _see? It’s not poisoned._

When he waves the spoon in front of Jongdae’s mouth this time, he opens it and tries not to grimace as the spoon clinks against his teeth. The man looks pleased for a moment, the beginnings of a smile beginning to play around the corners of his lips right before Jongdae chews once, twice, then forcefully spits the food out all over the man’s clothes. _Take that_ , he thinks smugly.

“Fuck,” he shouts, standing up so abruptly that the chair he had been sitting on clatters backwards to the ground. “Fuck.”

When he’s finished brushing off his clothes, he glares at Jongdae, eyes sharp before he turns around again. “I hate you,” he mutters under his breath, and Jongdae thinks he wasn’t supposed to hear it, for it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than anything else.

“If you hate me so much, why are you still trying to keep me alive,” Jongdae calls after his back, watching in satisfaction as the man’s shoulders tense briefly, stride faltering slightly before he continues to walk away.

❈

The third time he comes back, Jongdae is woozy, dehydrated, and exhausted. He thinks he must have fallen asleep at some point, for the sun is down now and night has crept in, slices of moonlight lying across the wooden floorboards.

This time, the man stands a good distance away from him, face hard and unforgiving. Jongdae finds the energy within him to smirk.

Slowly, the man approaches and Jongdae watches him warily, ice running through his veins when he spies the gun clutched in his hand. “Why did you do it?” he asks, voice steady, emotionless.

“I’ve been telling you, you have the wrong person,” Jongdae repeats. “Look, I can prove it,” he says, though he isn’t sure how exactly he’s going to do that.

The man looks at him skeptically.

“Well,” he says, “isn’t there some sort of mark he has? Like a birthmark, or a scar, maybe,” and he lets his eyes graze over the faint scar along the man’s cheek, a red, ragged line healed clumsily.

For a moment, the man pauses and Jongdae watches as he turns the idea over in his head.

“There is one,” here he stops, as if he isn’t sure he should be sharing this information. “It’s deep—across your stomach.”

Jongdae looks down at his own stomach then back up at the man, a deep sense of relief settling in his bones. He definitely doesn’t have a scar there. “I’d show you, but my hands are still tied,” he says pointedly.

The man frowns but puts the gun down on the table before crossing the space between them, lifting up Jongdae’s shirt in one smooth pull. Jongdae flinches—the man’s fingers are like ice against his warm skin. He’s close enough now that he can feel each breath coming from the man, the way his dark hair falls into his eyes. He watches as the man’s eyes widen, a myriad of emotions flickering through them—surprise, anger, a flash of _relief_ —before guilt settles in and the man lets go of his shirt and steps away.

“I owe you an apology,” he says quietly. “I made a mistake—I’ll let you go.”

He unravels the ropes binding him to the chair, and Jongdae massages his wrists, groaning as the blood rushes back into them. “I’m sorry,” the man repeats, when Jongdae is standing again.

Anger and irritation bubble up under his skin. “No, you don’t get to do that,” he points a finger at him. “You don’t get to apologize and pretend that everything’s okay now. You kept me here for what, the better part of a day? You _abducted_ me, even when I was trying to tell you that I was not the one you were looking for, you son of a bitch.”

The man doesn’t even bother to retaliate. Instead, he looks pale and sick, like finding out Jongdae wasn’t whoever he was looking for has aged him beyond belief. “I’m sorry,” it comes out as a whisper, but Jongdae can hear the exhaustion behind it.

“You tried to kill me,” he accuses.

“I wouldn’t have,” the man shakes his head, like the admission pains him.

Jongdae eyes the gun on the table pointedly.

The man huffs out a sigh, the kind that comes from deep within one’s body and hurts when it leaves. “It was never loaded.”

Jongdae picks up the gun and fires it point blank at the man. He doesn’t even flinch.

Despite himself, Jongdae relents. The man does look awful, and despite having _kidnapped_ him, he had been kept relatively comfortable (though the soreness in his limbs protested that thought) and had even been provided food (though he never actually got around to eating it). Despite all his threats, Jongdae had never really come under harm. He can’t forgive him—of course not—but he also can’t just leave, knowing full well that this man is just going to keep looking for this _Chen_ , who apparently looks just like him. His conscience won’t let him. He doesn’t know what’s going on between the two of them— _you shot Lu Han in the back, you told them Yifan and Tao’s locations and sold them out_ , he remembers the man saying—but for now, he thinks, he’ll just have to stick with the guy. Gain his trust, pretend to help him, just so he can figure out who the good guys are.

“I’m staying,” he announces. “To help you find whoever it was that betrayed you.”

The man looks startled before a stubborn tilt of his head warns Jongdae of what he’s about to say. He cuts him off. “You can’t stop me. Or else I’ll go to the police and tell them everything you did.” 

The man grimaces. Looking as though he had swallowed something bitter, he bites out, “Fine.”

“Great,” Jongdae grins. “Now let’s start over. My name’s Kim Jongdae, what’s yours?”

❈

Yixing blurts it all out to him, one day, over dinner. Jongdae had taken to staying over at Yixing’s place—he didn’t trust the guy, okay—and it’s become a habit of theirs, to order takeout and pretend to watch TV as they sit awkwardly across from each other at the small dining table Yixing owns. It’s strange, and Jongdae won’t deny that it’s pretty fucked up of him, to be eating at the same table, not to mention _living_ , with his former kidnapper (Baekhyun would probably call it Stockholm’s syndrome). But he doesn’t trust that Yixing won’t just go running off if he leaves.

“So what,” he asks, when Yixing pauses to take a bite of his noodles. “You’re an alien or something?”

“No, just from a parallel universe,” Yixing replies calmly, like it’s a completely normal conversation topic. “Actually, now that you bring it up, it’s probably best that we don’t run into your world’s version of me either.”

Jongdae’s head spins. “There’s another version of you?”

Yixing tilts his head curiously at him. “It seems that we each have our counterparts in the universe. Your existence proves that. We don’t know of each other,” he pauses to nod at him knowingly, “but that doesn’t mean that we don’t exist.”

Jongdae decides to move on. His head hurts. “And what, your group—your friends—were like an assassin unit or something? A hit group? Men for hire?”

Yixing winces at the last question. “I wouldn’t have called it that. But yeah, I guess in theory you’re not wrong.”

“And this _Chen_ ,” Jongdae pauses, placing special emphasis on the name, “he was part of your group?”

A brief silence, then a nod as Yixing chews slowly and swallows. He doesn’t meet Jongdae’s eyes. “My best friend,” he says. “We were a family, and he tore us apart.”

Jongdae sits back, stunned. Something that feels a lot like sympathy bleeds into his chest. He can’t imagine what he would do, how he would feel, if Baekhyun had betrayed him like that.

“I’m sorry,” is all he can think to say.

Yixing looks up, surprised. He gives Jongdae a small smile. “It’s not your fault,” he plays with his food, picking up a beansprout with his chopsticks and dropping it back down. His own food has become lukewarm and he grimaces at the oil beginning to congeal on top of the chicken. Stomach turning, he puts it to the side. “So now you know,” Yixing says. The corners of his lips are tight. “Still sure you want to stay?”

He doesn’t think too much about it. He doesn’t know _why_ , exactly, he trusts Yixing. For all he knows, the man in front of him could be lying, feeding him some sob story to make them sound like the good guys. But then Jongdae remembers the look in Yixing’s eye, the tightness to the corner of his mouth, when he had first thought Jongdae was Chen.

He nods.

He nods, and ignores the strange feeling in his stomach at the genuine smile Yixing gives him this time. It’s just the food, he tells himself.

It’s just the food.

❈

They’re in the middle of one of their shared dinners—they had progressively become less awkward after Yixing opened up to Jongdae, and Jongdae had gradually grown to appreciate the other’s strange quirks past his intimidating exterior (he had caught Yixing calling and making weird noises at the cat that liked to sunbathe on his neighbor’s roof the other day)—when they hear a loud shuffling of feet outside the door before a rapid, angry series of knocks echo throughout the loft.

Instantly, they’re both up, Yixing reaching for the knife he keeps strapped to his thigh as he gestures frantically for Jongdae to go to the kitchen where he knows Yixing keeps his gun in one of the drawers. He grabs it quickly before he rushes back out to the main hallway where Yixing is cautiously reaching a hand out to the doorknob.

“We know you’re in there, Yixing,” a voice rings out. Jongdae tenses at the unfamiliar voice, but the strain drops from Yixing’s shoulders as he slips the knife back into the strap in his thigh. He swings open the door.

Still wary, Jongdae watches as four men enter the hall, and then flinches as the first man shoves Yixing, hard. They’re saying something, but Jongdae can’t hear behind the dim rushing in his ears. _Chen sent them_ , he thinks. His fingers clench at the trigger of the gun, safety already off. But then the man’s hugging Yixing and running his fingers through his hair, tilting his chin back and forth as if to examine him for any injuries.

Slowly, Jongdae lowers the gun to his side. None of them have noticed him yet.

“You idiot,” hearing gradually returns to him as he realizes that they’re not in danger. “What were you thinking, leaving in the middle of the night without a word?”

“I left a note,” Yixing weakly protests, but the man isn’t having it.

“Yeah, and that note said, and I quote, ‘Going to find Chen. Don’t follow me’,” he rolls his eyes, but there’s something fond behind all the anger. “What were we supposed to think?”

“I’m sorry, ge,” Yixing says, bowing his head. “I didn’t want to drag you all into trouble with me.”

The three other men, who had stayed back and watched the scene unfold with a degree of amusement, step forward now. One of them, slender but tall, with keen eyes and several ear piercings, hugs Yixing. “Of course not, ge,” he murmurs, and it’s quiet enough that Jongdae has to strain to hear it. Another, the tallest of all of them, ruffles Yixing’s hair fondly. The last one, with a deceptively young countenance, simply smiles at him.

This, Jongdae realizes, must be the rest of Yixing’s group.

He clears his throat.

All of the heads whip to him.

Their reactions are instantaneous—the one who had been hugging Yixing somehow has a staff in hand immediately, the first man, with several daggers pulled from seemingly nowhere, the tallest with a pistol, and the quiet one with brass knuckles that glint in the light overhead. “Why is Chen in your house?” the first man asks Yixing, and Jongdae shudders at the utter hatred in his voice.

Yixing moves. “No, no, you don’t understand. That’s not Chen.”

That gets them to pause, at least for a moment.

“Ge,” a worried whine from Staff Man, as Jongdae has taken to calling him in his head. “He’s brainwashed you.”

“I swear,” Yixing moves from behind to stand in between them and Jongdae. “I made the same mistake as well, a few weeks ago. It’s a long story.” He sends a look backwards to make eye contact with Jongdae, a wordless apology.

Jongdae holds his hands up, carefully dropping his gun to the ground. It lands with a clatter. “I’m not Chen,” he repeats. “My name’s Kim Jongdae. I’m not the person you’re looking for, though Yixing has told me about him. I’m here to help.” A sudden thought strikes him. “Look,” he lifts his shirt up, “I don’t have a scar.”

At this, they all drop their guard, though they all still look sufficiently wary. “You have a lot of explaining to do,” the tallest finally speaks, and Yixing sighs.

❈

“I’ve gone through his old records,” Minseok says, looking grim. “He erased most of them, but he wasn’t careful enough to clean everything.” There’s a pause, as if he’s gathering the will to speak once more. It makes Jongdae nervous—despite having only known Minseok for a few short days, he gets the sense that the elder is not easily rattled—he exudes a quiet strength that Jongdae hasn’t seen before. So for him to be gathering the bravery to speak up again, must mean that his next words are devastating.

“I know where he is.”

Everyone’s eyes are fixed to Minseok. Jongdae notices that Yixing, particularly, is gripping the armrests of his chair tight enough that his knuckles are showing up white. There’s something desperate, Jongdae thinks, in his expression. He doesn’t know whether it’s desperation to seek revenge, or a sort of twisted longing to see Chen face to face once more. Perhaps a little bit of both.

“He’s at the graveyard.”

They all exchange a look. Jongdae glances around, confused. “What? What does that mean?”

Yifan grimaces. Han looks pained. Tao and Minseok look at each other. Yixing stares at the table.

“It’s where he betrayed us,” Yixing finally speaks.

 _Oh_. “Well—” he starts uncertainly, but he gets cut off before he can finish his sentence.

“And it’ll be where it ends.”

In silence, he watches as Yixing stands up and walks out, the door clicking shut softly behind him. Jongdae almost wishes he had slammed it on his way out. Anything would be better than this awful silence he’s left behind.

He stands up, gestures vaguely to the door and mumbles something about following him to the others. He doesn’t wait for their responses.

❈

Sometimes when Yixing doesn’t think he’s looking, Jongdae catches him watching him, wearing that same sort of _hurt_ expression he had held when he had first kidnapped Jongdae.

More than once, Jongdae has turned his head, feeling eyes on him, only to find Yixing studying him quietly, feet away from him. Each time, Jongdae holds his gaze for a moment before something closes off in Yixing’s expression and he breaks the eye contact, looking down before looking away.

Yixing never says anything.

Jongdae doesn’t ask.

❈

He finds Yixing on the rooftop.

It’s cold—winter has come early this year, it seems, and in his haste to chase after Yixing, he had neglected to bring a jacket. He shivers.

“I can hear your teeth chattering from here you know?” Yixing turns, suddenly, with a small smile.

“I’m cold,” he defends.

Yixing frowns. “You didn’t have to follow me out.”

 _I wanted to make sure you were okay_ , are the words that are on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows them down. “Well, I’m here now,” he shrugs, and hopes it comes off as nonchalant.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Jongdae is confused. “Follow you out?”

“No— _this_ ,” Yixing turns and gestures widely to the air around them. “This whole business with Chen. You don’t have to do this. There’s no reason for you to be here.” His voice is tight with the first few words, but they hitch up in tone as he becomes more emotional. “Jongdae.” He looks at him.

Jongdae looks back. He steps a little closer to Yixing, tentative. The scar on his cheek is stretched taut, glaringly red in the sunlight and he’s close enough to _touch_ —

Yixing steps back.

Reality comes crashing back down on Jongdae’s shoulders. What is he doing? “He’s me though, isn’t he?” When Yixing looks confused, he elaborates. “Chen is me, just another version of me in your universe. Technically I’m still responsible for him. And I know too much now to just leave.”

It’s the truth. How can he go back to what he had before, when he knows what he does about parallel universes and now that he’s met Yixing, and Minseok, and Tao, Han, and Yifan?

When Yixing doesn’t look like he has a response for Jongdae, he grabs Yixing’s hand. Ignoring the feel of Yixing’s palm against his, he tugs him back towards the exit. “Come on. It’s cold.”

He doesn’t mention how warm he feels, when Yixing gives him another one of those smiles and laces their fingers together.

❈

Jongdae had never realized how hard it was to fall asleep with someone sharing the same bed, especially when he had gotten so used to sleeping alone for the last few years. He lets out a sigh, and turns, pulling the blanket over himself a little, very conscious of the amount he takes. It’s not the first night he’s spent in Yixing’s bedroom (Han and Yifan had taken the spare room Jongdae used to occupy, while Minseok and Tao each took one of the couches outside) since the others arrived, but he still isn’t accustomed to hearing Yixing’s breathing right next to him, and feeling the edge of his warmth in the darkness.

He looks around the room, trying to distract himself enough so he can relax. The walls are bare, with no personal touches. It feels foreign. He supposes it makes sense—it’s not like interior decorating was on the forefront of Yixing’s mind, what with his fixation on finding Chen. He does see something small though, on the dresser across from the bed, and he narrows his eyes at it, recognizing it as a picture of the group—all six of them, including Chen, framed neatly and staring back at him.

It’s odd, that Yixing would keep a picture that included Chen in a place that he would wake up and see, every morning. It reminds Jongdae of something.

“The picture I saw of you and Chen earlier—you weren’t just friends, were you?” the words slip out of Jongdae’s mouth without his permission, and he winces. Of all times to bring it up. He wonders if he’s lucky enough and Yixing is asleep already.

The bed shifts next to him.

Of course not.

“We were more than that,” Yixing whispers, a confession to the dark. Somehow, Jongdae isn’t surprised. Some part of him had known, he registers, and he thinks of the way Yixing had always said his name with such vitriol, like he was overcompensating for something. The way he had faltered when he had first kidnapped Jongdae, the tension in his shoulders, the _relief_ when he had realized Jongdae wasn’t Chen. A mask to disguise the hurt, he thinks.

He’s glad that Yixing has finally decided to trust him. Something in Jongdae breaks, however, at the news. Any attraction Yixing might feel for Jongdae is based purely on the fact that he’s the Chen of this universe, that he’s nothing more than a surrogate for him. A whisper of the best friend that Yixing used to have. 

Still though, he thinks. He can have this at least. He finds Yixing’s hand next to him and tangles their fingers together. He feels, more than hears, Yixing’s quiet exhalation of surprise before he turns, warm breaths puffing against his neck.

If everything goes to hell tomorrow, at least Jongdae has this.

❈

“There’s something wrong,” Han whispers, from Yixing’s left. They’re at the graveyard—Jongdae had realized that Minseok hadn’t meant an _actual_ graveyard, that it was just their (overly dramatic, Jongdae thought) nickname for the abandoned laboratory where, as Han liked to say, shit went down.

Tao shoves him lightly, a scowl on his face, but he’s right. Something about this does feel too easy—the paper trail left for them to find, the choice of location. If Chen is anything like Jongdae—if Chen _is_ Jongdae, just from a different universe, this isn’t the way he’d get caught. He’s too careful, too meticulous for that.

“Keep moving,” Yixing decides, though his expression is wary. “We’ve come this far, and if it is a trap, he definitely knows we’re here by now.”

With a nod, Jongdae follows, and the rest of them do as well, continuing their slow scope of the area. They reach a hallway that splits, each with lights that flicker ominously, and they glance uncertainly at each other until Yifan grabs Minseok and Tao, pulling them to the left and motioning for Han, Yixing, and Jongdae to take the right. Yixing nods, and they split up, moving faster, adrenaline rushing.

“Look,” Han points to a camera nestled in a dark corner, and Jongdae and Yixing squint at it, but there’s no mistaking the red light that flashes as it swivels to face them. There’s no doubt about it then—Chen is watching them, and he probably had been this entire time. Jongdae shivers.

As if on cue, a door slams behind them, and they jump, on the defensive, as armed men clad in what looks like dark army gear rush out towards them. Han strikes first, daggers flashing quickly as he gets rid of one, then two, felling them as he dashes past. Yixing tosses Jongdae a knife as well from the belt strapped to his waist, before turning so they’re back to back, fighting with the men that have surrounded them.

They take down the first wave fairly quickly, mostly thanks to Han and Yixing, but they each have cuts on their arms, Han limping slightly due to a nasty blow to his leg. Before they can catch their breath, however, the door opens once more and more men come swarming out, Han audibly groaning before the three of them press back together tightly, forming another defensive ring. There’s too many of them, however, and Jongdae wonders for a moment, if this is how he’s going to die—trapped in an old building with no one knowing where he is, fighting someone else’s battle for them, someone that he doesn’t even truly know, but somehow has feelings for.

That’s his last thought before something hits him so hard that he swears his teeth rattle before he feels nauseous and the ground rushes to meet him.

❈

There’s something familiar about the way he wakes up—hands tied behind his back firmly, a dull ache in his head, the dryness in his mouth. At least this time he’s had practice, he thinks wryly, thinking back to when Yixing had done the same to him, though he certainly had never hit him hard enough to leave a headache that pounds against his skull like a bird trying to escape from its cage.

He turns his head to the side, wincing at the stiffness in his neck. What he sees makes him freeze though, as he catches sight of Han, Minseok, Yifan, and Tao all chained up beside him, each a few feet apart from the next. He counts, then counts again. _Yixing_ , he thinks, almost desperately. _Where is he?_

He gets his answer when a loud clang resonates around the room, catching Yifan’s wince from his peripheral vision. His eyes find Yixing first. There’s a bruise blossoming high up on his cheekbone with a cut that’s opened up alongside it, almost like a continuation of the scar that was already there. He’s shoved mercilessly to the ground, his hands barely coming out in time to catch him, head bowed. He stays that way for a few pounds of Jongdae’s heart, and he wills Yixing to look up, to stand up once more.

His view is blocked when well-polished shoes step in front of him, and he looks up, coming face to face with—

Himself.

Well.

The parallel universe’s version of himself.

 _So this is Chen_ , he thinks, studying the way his hair is curled and gelled to the side, the cheekbones that seem sharper, somehow, the large ring on his fingers. Chen smirks down at him, expression haughty and _dangerous_ in a way that Jongdae doesn’t think he could ever pull off, looking back at Yixing. “This is the pathetic version of me you’ve found? To do what,” he strides back, gripping Yixing’s chin and forcing him to make eye contact with him. “ _Replace_ me?”

He laughs, a cruel, cold sound. “You could never.”

“Fuck you,” Yixing spits, but even Jongdae can tell that it’s weak, can sense the deep-rooted longing Yixing has tried so hard to bury.

“You wish,” he retorts, and Jongdae grits his teeth.

“Hey, fucker,” he hears Han call, and Jongdae almost smiles but catches himself in time. “Long time no see.”

“Han,” he smiles, all teeth. He turns to Yifan, nodding to him in mock respect. “Duizhang.” Yifan’s chains rattle as he trembles in fury.

His eyes sweep past Jongdae to land on Minseok and Tao, who are staring back at him defiantly. He hums. “It is nice, to have you here all in one place again. I’d almost forgot how it felt to have a team.”

“You’re not a part of us any longer,” Yixing mutters from where he is still kneeling on the ground.

“What was that?” Chen turns, smiling indulgently. “Do speak up, Xing.”

“Why did you do it,” and this is where Yixing looks up now, and Jongdae feels his heart crack at the wetness in his eyes. “I’ve spent months, dreaming of that moment, going over it again and again in my head, and I can never figure out _why_. We were a _family_ , we protected each other, we loved each other. We were all each other had.”

For a moment, Chen doesn’t speak, and Jongdae watches as he clenches his fists together, tightly, releases, then clenches them again. The muscles in his back ripple as he involuntarily tenses, and then he is the picture of tranquility once more. “That’s where we disagree,” his voice has lost all of its haughtiness from earlier now, and is low, tremulous with anger. “I was never a part of your little _family._ ” He bites out the word like a curse. “I was the last to join the group, and the whole time, I felt like an outsider. I was looking for ways to escape—when the Red Force gave me an out, I took it. What they offered me was far better than anything I had ever gotten from you.”

“What did they offer you?” Yixing’s voice is wrecked, choked with anger and sorrow. He screams. “Tell me what they offered you.”

Jongdae sneaks a glance to his side—Han is silent, for once, and Yifan’s face is stony, Minseok with his fingertips digging harshly into his palms, and Tao sniffling quietly, though his eyes burn with indignity.

Slowly, as not to inform Chen of his movements, Jongdae wiggles at his bonds with his fingertips. While Chen had been sufficiently distracted by Yixing’s questioning, Jongdae had slowly been working at his bonds on the sharp splinter of the wooden chair he was sat on. While the others had been chained down, Jongdae had been the only one with rope bindings, presumably because he had been perceived as less of a threat. He moves his toes, feeling the edge of the knife in his shoe press up against his foot. Before they had left, Jongdae had slipped a small knife into his shoe, the way he had seen so many people do in those action films he liked to watch, because he had suspected that Chen would overlook him.

He had been right. Who else would know Chen better than Jongdae himself?

“Power,” Jongdae says simply. “Recognition.”

Yixing’s head drops down, seemingly having no more energy to fight back anymore. He looks like a shell of himself, nothing like the man Jongdae had gotten to know in the past few months. Sure, Jongdae had seen the hesitation in his glare when Yixing had first kidnapped him, not entirely willing to exact the revenge he had so clearly planned, but as the months had gone by, he had realized that despite the hesitance, Yixing had a type of determination and will that he hadn’t seen before. Jongdae had thought that it was aimed towards finishing the mission and getting rid of Chen, but now, as he stares at Yixing’s broken form, he realizes that instead, it had been determination to understand _why_. And now that he does, there’s nothing left in him. Yixing’s resigned to his fate, he thinks, and it makes him angry.

Jongdae cuts through the last of his bonds.

Reaching quickly for his knife, he slips it smoothly out of his boot, cutting through the bonds wrapped around his ankles and tackling Chen from behind.

Chen grunts, surprised, before flipping Jongdae over and sending him hurtling down to the ground. Jongdae manages to tangle his fingers in his shirt, however, and pulls him down with him. The knife clatters out of his hand, just out of reach. They grapple on the floor, hands punching and feet kicking, and it’s strange, fighting with someone he knows is himself—Jongdae knows all of Chen’s tells, and he can see that it’s starting to frustrate him, but in return, Chen knows all of Jongdae’s as well.

Physically, Chen is stronger than Jongdae—he really had never been much of an athlete, he thinks ruefully—but Jongdae is just that much _quicker_. If he can just keep dodging out of the way, stay half a breath ahead, he can tire Chen out.

The problem is, Chen knows this is his plan. His arm darts out, suddenly, and grips Jongdae by the throat, and he squeezes, hard. His hands come up to try and pull Chen’s away, but it’s no use and dimly, he can hear Han and Tao behind him, screaming at Chen to let go, straining at their chains, but he knows there’s nothing he can do. He focuses back on Chen’s face.

There’s some strange sort of irony here, he thinks. Dying by his own hand. It’s scary, to think that this is _him_ , that this is simply another version of Jongdae, to know that deep, deep inside him, there exists something so dark and hurt.

He studies Chen, the way his eyebrows furrow together, the grit to his jaw and he wonders. He can hear the rushing of blood in his head, the grey spots at the periphery of his sight.

He watches Chen.

He watches as Chen’s eyes open wide, startled, surprise and something like sorrow flicker through them, watches as he brings his hands off of Jongdae’s neck to cup around the blade now protruding from his stomach, trembles, then falls to the side, glassy gaze unseeing.

He watches as Yixing stands in front of him, hands stained a garish shade of red, not looking at Chen’s body now sprawled to the side next to them, but instead, back at Jongdae.

When Jongdae falls, Yixing catches him.

“Thank you,” Yixing breathes out, burying his head into Jongdae’s shoulder, “thank you.”

❈

When the door opens up behind him, Jongdae doesn’t turn around.

He had gotten out of bed about an hour ago, after he had woken up too early, too restless to slip back into sleep. There was nowhere for him to go but the roof, and so he went, sitting on the ledge (he knew it was dangerous but in the moment, he didn’t care) and leaning back on his hands, simply studying the still sleeping city, lost in thought.

He can feel Yixing’s gaze on him, settling warmly on his shoulders and _oh-_ Yixing’s slipped the scarf that had been looped around his neck onto his own. Instinctively, he nuzzles into the residual heat and inhales deeply. It smells like Yixing.

They sit in silence for a bit.

“Where will you go now?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Yixing admits, but his voice is a lot lighter than Jongdae had expected it to be, for someone who has no foreseeable plans for the future. He pauses, for a moment, looking outwards at the city, at the people who have begun to wander out of their homes to begin their day. Jongdae feels him shrug beside him, shoulders rubbing against each other. Somehow, he isn't too surprised when Yixing speaks again. “But I think I’d like to stay.”

Jongdae nods, and something in his chest aches with a tender sort of fondness, when Yixing settles down next to him, casually slipping an arm around his waist and leans his head on his shoulder.

He keeps his gaze fixed outwards, on the pale pink and blue of the sky, watching as a pair of doves fly overhead, into the horizon.

**Author's Note:**

> to the prompter, thank you so so much for the opportunity to write a fic with my favorite boys, and with such an incredible prompt. 
> 
> i hope all of you are staying safe with all that's going on right now! my thoughts are with you all. please keep social distancing, if not for yourself then for the others around you.
> 
> find me here:
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/staryxz)   
>  [tumblr](https://dimpledliar.tumblr.com)   
>  [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/yixingzhang)


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